Under their singularly anonymous moniker, the Band consisted of four Canadians and one Arkansawyer, five accomplished musicians who could switch instruments as effortlessly as they changed musical styles: Richard Manuel (soulful vocals, piano, drums), Rick Danko (vocals, bass, guitar), Robbie Robertson (guitar, lyrics), Levon Helm (drums, mandolin, vocals), and Garth Hudson (organ, accordion, reed instruments, and everything else). A Musical History, the five-disc/one-DVD set executive produced by Robertson, follows the quintet from their roots in the Canadian rockabilly scene to Woodstock to The Last Waltz, distilling more than 15 years down to five discs and 102 tracks, of which nearly 40 are either previously unreleased or unavailable on CD. Pop artist Ed Ruscha painted the monochromatic portrait on the cover, and Rob Bowman contributes monographic liner notes, heavily excerpting his contributions from the 2000 reissues. As for the title, what other kind of history could there be? A Musical History proves much more definitive than any previous compilations, which typically start with the Band's first album; however, it's not the length of its tracklist, but the range, that counts. A Musical History begins with a one-disc prologue with tracks from The Band's previous incarnations-- Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks, Levon and the Hawks, Bob Dylan's backing band, and Crackers.
The band that eventually became the Band paid their dues the old-fashioned way: they apprenticed themselves. It was Ronnie Hawkins who really taught them to "play fuckin' loud," a tactic that honed their killer chops and barnstorming showmanship. Under Dylan's tutelage during his first electric tour they learned that their songs were not restricted by any particular structure, running time, or tradition and so could be whatever The Band wanted them to be. So listening to this first disc is like reading an accomplished writer's very first short stories: These songs reveal a hesitant, undeveloped voice that's not quite certain yet what's possible or permissible, but the music is cast in sharp relief by our knowledge of future accomplishments. Despite the inclusion of unreleased tracks uncovered in DJ/producer Duff Roman's basement (like the instrumental "Bacon Fat" and the caustic "Leave Me Alone"), this is a slow, albeit valuable, chapter in the Band's history, peppered with some admittedly fiery numbers. "Who Do You Love" sounds like Hawkins is stirring up a riot and his band is trying to muffle it. And the live cuts of Dylan's "Tell Me, Momma" and "Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues" have a rough, obstinate grandeur that deflected all the boos the folk-purist audiences hurled at them.
Both Hawkins and Dylan were outsized personas who dominated the stage and often obscured the five musicians behind them. When they finally formed the Band, Danko, Helm, Hudson, Manuel, and Robertson opted for something a little more democratic (or like communism, as Helm remarks in his autobiography). The key to the Band was that no voice or instrument dominated, but still, everyone was doing something very interesting all the time. There are three distinct vocalists on Music From Big Pink and The Band, and everyone except Robertson trades out instruments. The result is a pair of albums that still sound simultaneously experimental and traditional, irreverent and respectful. Music From Big Pink is included on A Musical History in its entirety-- anything less would be a travesty-- but with the previously unavailable full-length version of "To Kingdom Come" (which leaves Hudson's organ solo intact) and an alternate take of "Lonesome Suzie". The Band is represented by about two-thirds of its tracks, with live or alternate versions of the remaining third.
It's no stretch to say this pair of albums marks the Band's peak-- blues, folk, jazz, rock, funk, soul, r&b;, and country and western all synthesized into twin monuments to the American music they'd been playing for nearly a decade in clubs, roadhouses, and honkytonks with Hawkins and in stadiums and basements with Dylan. Their early apprenticeships had given them everything they needed to make these albums, but failed to teach them how to deal with the ensuing money and success. It's all pretty much downhill from the final chords of "King Harvest (Has Surely Come)": The Band suffered in the limelight, which shifted their communal work ethic from collaboration to isolation. Drugs, poor reviews, and intra-Band ego clashes ravaged the group, making The Last Waltz seem like a logical, if somewhat preemptive conclusion.
Still, despite some dips here and there (especially Robertson's awkward storytelling on "The Moon Struck One"), the final two disks prove the quintet remained a powerful unit, able to sculpt intricate songs that rambled and grooved. Allen Toussaint's mind-boggling horn arrangements on Cahoots and Rock of Ages-- the bulk of the fourth disc-- give songs like "Life Is a Carnival" and "Don't Do It" a hit of energy that enlivens the arrangements considerably. The Moondog Matinee covers are adventurous and irreverent: it takes temerity to add new verses to Little Junior Parker's Blue Flames' "Mystery Train", but the Band makes the new material sound like it actually belongs there. And Helm's enthusiastic vocals on Clarence "Frogman" Henry's "Ain't Got No Home" reveal a good humor and spiritedness that contrasts nicely with soberer songs like "It Makes No Difference".
The fifth disc includes "Forever Young", the only excerptable song from Planet Waves, along with two tracks from the Band's 1974 tour with Dylan: "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35" is noteworthy for its goofy ad libs, while "Highway 61 Revisited" barrels along with righteous hot-rod abandon. After tracks from the underrated Northern Lights--Southern Cross and the odds-and-ends Islands, as well as a few outtakes and rarities (like Rick Danko's exquisitely homesick "Home Cookin'"), the set closes with three tracks from The Last Waltz: "Evangeline" with Emmylou Harris, a majestic version of "The Night They Drove Ol' Dixie Down", and "The Weight" performed with the Staple Singers.
And that's where A Musical History concludes, venturing no further than 1978, despite the fact that four of the five members continued touring as the Band during the 1980s. There are no tracks from those lonely tours nor from any of the members' various solo projects. Furthermore, Bowman's notes end well before they can consider the three decades between The Last Waltz and A Musical History-- the deaths of Manuel and Danko, the Band's diminishing legacy, or even the long-awaited official release of Dylan's show at the Royal Albert Hall. So this set doesn't provide a complete history, but its abrupt cut-off point seems unavoidable, perhaps even natural: The Band was no more or less than those five men, who were united in their mission to make music not as pop culture, but as American culture.